


bits & pieces

by leedeeloo



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Animal Death, Anthology, Car Accident, Gen, Smoking, groove station, light Violence, many works in one multi chapter thing because reasons, non sexual penile discussion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-10-08 17:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 11,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10391736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/pseuds/leedeeloo
Summary: assorted little fics that I don't want to post on their own for whatever reason. Things that are very short, or extra/deleted scenes from longer fics, that sort of thing. any sort of warnings will be added as needed, and in the notes of the specific chapter they're for.





	1. flower crowns

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Phobos makes the best flower crowns. He's got a gift for weaving the stems just right and almost never needs ribbon

  
He started with crab grass, but it made his skin itch and peel, so the ease of its length wasn’t worth it. Not that he needed much practice; his fingers just knew the right way to bend, how to hold stems and keep track. He always felt a little bad just tossing the strawberry runners, so they were the perfect base; by the time he’d had his fun with his crown, they’d be dried out and could go into the compost.   
  
It was usually weeds; they’d be pulled out anyways, and the roots were long enough. Little sprouts of leaves hovering around red, puffy dandelions that he didn’t dare put on his head because of the sap.    
  
And when the weather started getting too cold for the morning glories, he had a field day. It was truly royal, tall and dense, the vines weaving all the way up and around. He kept it a little too long, adding flowers from the other wilting plants, trying to keep it strong. Eventually it all wilted, and he crushed it into the compost.


	2. illuminachos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: this morning i woke up and then woke my partner to say "illuminachos" and they were startled, asking me if that was "a band", to which I said "no,just guacamole" and went back to sleep. point is i could see this exchange happening in the boys' flat

There was a sharp knock at Meouch’s door, that he didn’t fully comprehend until he had already opened it. He stared down at Sung, fully dressed and his clothes looking as disheveled as he felt.   
  
There was a beat of silence before Meouch finally gave out a flat, too tired to be angry, “what.”   
  
“Illuminachos.”   
  
Another moment of silence as Meouch processed what he just heard. He really truly tried to understand what the fuck Sung just said to him. Again, less tired but just as flat, “what?”    
  
Sung just nodded.    
  
“What are you- is that a band, are you still asleep, what are you talking about doc?” He raised his hand to his face, rubbing his digits across his forehead, as if he had to give his brain a jump start.   
  
“S’just guacamole,” Sung replied and slowly turned and walked away. Meouch watched him go for a few paces before shutting his door and pressing his head against the frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i almost accidentally added this to the grocery fic bc i cant read


	3. dirt bot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ladyphobos asked: reach WITH IN To your LOCAL dirt and you may find A Friend And Bot....

Phobos had been looking for Havve. He had gotten up a bit before sunset and was just waiting for it to be dark enough to check outside. He’d always go out through the backyard, leaving the gate to the alley open like a sign he was gone.

Dusk just hit and he pulled on his helmet. He didn’t even get all the way to the gate.

It was like an over sized anthill before a rainstorm. This pile of dirt on the border between the yard and garden. He stared at it for a solid few seconds before a handful of dirt came flying up and he just had to approach it. 

The dirt really wasn’t piled that high, only up to his knees. Which was impressive, because Havve had dug up enough to be completely in the ground.

Another handful of dirt flew up, hitting Phobos in the face and getting caught in his vent rather than falling in with the rest of the pile. Havve didn’t seem to notice that most of what he threw rained back down on him. 

Phobos waited a beat before reaching into the hole and shoving Havve’s head. He looked up, startled, not angry. He reciprocated, reaching up and roughly pulling Phobos’ helmet off, revealing an exuberant grin.

 


	4. a learned man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kind of a continuation of happenstance.  
> phobos is rightly upset about the destruction of his home, and sung tries to comfort him.

Phobos was, as Sung called it, having a good pout, which only served to add ‘pissed off’ to the list of things he was feeling. 

He was almost enjoying it, head pillowed on his folded arms hiding the grimace he was making. Sung had to come along and ruin it, hand on Phobos’ shoulder, gentle and comforting, saying “You’re gonna be fine, you know.”

It made Phobos’ shoulders raise, he opened his mouth to give some searing response before remembering his newly decided vow of silence. His hands fumbled for the tablet Sung had given him, his only way of communicating. It was incredibly good at guessing what he wanted to say as he typed, and it dictated what he wrote.

“Shut up.” He’d clearly retained his eloquence. He shrugged Sung’s hand away, stood to leave. Of course Sung followed, popping up in front of him, blocking his way. Phobos kept his lips pressed together in a scowl, tapping out a rant with one hand. And then there was the awkward moment where he had to stand there and stare at Sung while his message played.

“Everyone I’ve ever known is gone, and even if anyone survived, that planet, my home, is completely uninhabitable. I don’t want to hear you say I’m going to be fine, when you have no idea if that’s true.”

He went to swerve around Sung, but again he stepped in his way. His hands were up, at the ready to physically stop Phobos. 

“Okay, that was- I’m sorry, really, I should have given you a reason to trust me on that.” He started undoing the strap of his helmet, fingers moving with practiced ease. It occurred to Phobos that he had not yet seen the Doctor without his headgear. He paused for a moment when he seemed to have everything unfastened, then pulled off the helmet.

For one, the height of the helmet certainly gave him an air of authority, and now, Phobos looking down at his face, he looked unsure and nervous, like he was flying by the seat of his pants for this whole operation.

Then there was what he actually looked like. One big eye that didn’t seem to be a solid colour, these white freckles across the top half of his face, clustering over the right side of his eye. Pointed ears, slowly moving up and down-- or maybe in little circle, it was hard to tell-- and just slightly pinker than the rest of his skin. Perhaps from being squashed down in the helmet. 

Phobos stared at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape, then slowly brought his hand up, mussed Sung’s hair. It was perfectly golden, stayed where he pushed it, stiff. He slid his fingertips down the side of Sung’s face-- his skin was smooth, so smooth it felt slick, and so incredibly warm it was just under the threshold of painful.

Sung’s species had gone extinct long ago-- time got hard to count across galaxies, so it was a little hard to say exactly how long. The entire planet was destroyed, and any off-planet colonies were wiped out shortly after, leaving no evidence as to why.

As soon as Phobos pulled back, Sung put his helmet back on. He was smiling, maybe a little shy.

“You’re, ah, familiar with  _ that  _ kind of history, correct?” Phobos nodded. “I mean, you did mention it but I-- The others really have no idea.” Sung cut himself off, tightening up the last strap. He looked like nothing happened. “They’ve both seen me without it, and the Commander just- he said he’d never seen anyone like me, but that was it. And Havve doesn’t care. I don’t think he does, anyways.”

Again, Phobos nodded. He clutched the tablet, wanting to say something but not sure what. An apology for snapping like that, perhaps. Or condolences. But Sung launched right back into talking.

“I do know what you’re going through, and I do know you’re going to be okay.” He stepped backward, smiling, pointy little teeth showing as he spoke, something Phobos managed to miss before. “I also intend to be your friend, not just your leader.” He turned, waving over his shoulder. 

“Thank you!” Phobos called it out suddenly, on impulse. It was okay, probably, to break his vow just once, just for this. Sung stopped, just for a moment, as surprised as Phobos was. Then all Phobos felt was calm, perfectly reassured from the conversation, just a little late. 


	5. who calls a house a groove station

The house was deceptively normal. Two floors, brown panel siding, cheap shingles that didn’t match across the whole roof. An unimpressive front yard, patchy uneven grass with a bright floral garden. A cracked sidewalk wound around the side, into the backyard. A modest concrete patio, the same patchy grass and lush garden, a driveway with no garage, just a van and trailer unattached. It had a chain link fence mostly around it, with a gap for a painted shed. 

It looked both too well kept to house a group of young men as well as perfectly disheveled and messy.

The inside was much the same; messy with jackets and shoes littering near the doors, dishes on any flat furniture, knickknacks galore. Cushy throw rugs over the hardwood and tile floors, thicker rugs by the doors leading outside. The stairs to the second floor were wooden and slick.

The hallway was bare, just a few posters taped to the walls. Just doors to bedrooms and the bathroom.

There was a trapdoor to the attic at the very end of the hall, that, given the size of the house, no normal person would assume it opened into any sort of useable space. Just access for maintenance, right? But it could pop open, and there was a ladder next to the opening ready to be pulled down.  It wasn’t a very high attic, they all had to slouch in it. But it was mostly a hallway. 

The shingles on the roof that didn’t match the rest of it weren’t just a random happenstance. It was a marker. They lined up perfectly with the metallic step ladder leading up out of the roof, into the band's former mode of transportation. 

It wasn’t a large space ship, certainly smaller than the house, and it was at a bit of an angle. It had enough of a power source to keep the cloaking on, but not enough to be moved. 

The inside was all chrome and futuristic, empty rooms at an incline. It didn’t have any use anymore, the band had found a home, but none of them were willing to get rid of it- or really knew how. 

So it stayed. An invisible disc, shading their earthly abode. 


	6. night lights

 

The house was certainly a sight during the night. There were nightlights and fairy lights and string lights all over; once Phobos ate shit on the stairs, Sung started putting them up. It was just a couple at first, you understand, just these little stick on wall lights at the top and bottom of the stairs. but more cropped up. In the outlets, little solar powered tiny lamps that turn on after dark, string lights lining the stairs like movie theater aisles. Touch lamps that vibrate under fingertips, always at the ready, the floor bathed in a pastel rainbow, warm white light from fairy lights tacked up around the ceiling in a meandering path.

It was a sweet gesture, which was strange for Sung; he was very big on verbal declarations of just how much he cared and how important his bandmates were. This, on the other hand, was something he just did, never once said a word about it. Over the course of about two weeks, the lights started appearing. He was quick to set them all out, and after that they only moved around, for max efficiency.

There was truly something special about how they all came on at exactly the right time, even the ones with manual switches. Sung must have done something, upgraded them all to have timers or something.

Phobos had a memory of that first week of all the light appearing, a memory of what he thought was a dream. The kind of dream where you wake up and start your day and just as you get out the door, you wake up for real; that kind of frustrating dream. Just shorter. Phobos woke up in the middle of the day, middle of his night, and all he could see through the sleep in his eyes, was that he was not in his own bed. He was lying on his side, hand in front of his face on some metallic surface. Harsh shadow under his limb, darkness in the room beyond that. And this tugging, this pressure, both simultaneously, at the back of his head, bottom of his skull before the bend of his neck.

He shut his eyes and woke up for real a few hours later in the earthy tones of his bed. That was the first day the string lights were there, and he saw them click on as he approached the stairs.


	7. together forever

“How long have you guys been… doing this? Been travelling together?”

Sung smiled, looked up from what he was doing and called across the room, “Havve Hogan, how long have we been together?”

The way he said it sounded overly rehearsed, stiff and unnatural. The way Havve looked over confirmed it, that it was some kind of signalling phrase, a prompt. Something in Havve whirred, and then there was a soft click.

"Too long,” said a recorded voice from Havve. As if he had a tape in his chest that’s only purpose was to rewind and play that single clip.

Sung was smugly pleased.


	8. hey doc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is based off a mbmbam bit

It was a standard day, for touring. 

Stopped by a gas station in the middle of Nowhere, Canada. Phobos had abruptly woken up just for a bathroom break and they stopped as soon as possible and he hopped out before the vehicle stopped. Havve went out a little after, something he wanted to pick up that he didn’t trust anyone else to purchase or even know about. Once he was out, Meouch clambered his way up into shotgun, leaned his head out the window and started inspecting his appearance in the side mirror, baring his teeth and picking between them.

They sat in almost silence for half a minute, Sung drumming his fingers on the steering wheel,  whistling half tunes. 

“Hey,” Meouch said, shifting his posture to lean towards Sung. “You’re like- you know about bodies, right?”

“Yeah, I have some physiological knowledge. Why do you ask?” This wasn’t Sung being some kind of pedantic asshole; he just constantly rephrased things into the way he processed them. Which was convenient, sometimes. 

“I was wondering something,” Meouch started, Sung nodded. He took a noticeable pause, trying to word what he was asking before he said it. “How come, when I gain weight, gain fat, my dick stays the same?” He had the nerve to turn his head and look Sung right in the eye as he asked, making some kind of pointing gesture down towards his crotch.

Doctor Sung let out a sigh that sounded like he was dying. 

A beat of silence.

“So do you know-”

“Oh my GOD.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really sorry.


	9. garden garter snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lewd-phobos asked: Lord Phobos finds a gartner snake in their garden,, he takes it to any of the other three and they scream in terror

He almost missed it. Dark dark green, blending in with the leaves, the dirt, it was dark already. But the shape caught his eye, and he froze.

Phobos had never seen a snake before. 

There was an initial response of fear; he’d only seen this in still pictures, videos, a screen separating him. And then there was the spark of curiosity.

He pushed leaves and stems out of the way, balanced on his toes. It didn’t move away. He touched it, gently, a soft prod.

The snake learned he was warm, and started wiggling over. Let him pick it up. 

Smooth, dirt falling off the scales easily. Admittedly, he didn’t know how to hold it, just let it coil in his palms. He could pet his head with his thumb, just a little, not wanting to bother. 

He stood up, unsteady, overly careful. Glad only the screen door was shut, didn’t need to try to grab a handle, just push a button and yank the door open with a finger, slip in the gap. 

Havve was the closest, sitting on the floor and fiddling with a wooden block puzzle, Phobos eagerly showed off his find.

He scuttled backwards across the floor, literally dropping what he was doing.

Phobos followed.

Havve let out a horrific, dial-tone-esque screech, making everyone come running. 

Phobos was shoved back out the door, instructed to put that back where he found it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant write anything long anymore


	10. revelry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> owlabouttwrp said: The boys go to a carnival?

Meouch stopped the van suddenly. They all knew he was going to, but it was jerky. They’d been talking about it as soon as they saw the ferris wheel in the distance, about five minutes ago. The sun was setting behind them, all the lights in the carnival coming on.

They all crunched across the gravel parking lot, Sung pushing himself to the front of the group.

“We can do like, two rides, okay? Just two, we don’t have the time for more.” He was saying it more to remind himself than the rest of the group.

It wasn’t a big carnival; a handful of rides, the ferris wheel having the longest line of about 30 people, and a smattering of booths, games and food side by side, all mixed together.

Havve started heading for the lone roller coaster, a rickety wooden adrenaline rush. Nothing big, no loops. They moved in a tight little pack, Phobos right behind him, head down, eyes squinted shut. Sung and Meouch looked around at everything, heads swiveling as they tried to take it all in. Sung taking note of the games he’d like to lose, Meouch ranking the food in the order he’d like to try it.

The line was short and quick, they were getting on the coaster before they knew it. Havve went right for the front, and Phobos filed in behind him. Meouch gleefully took the seat next to Havve, leaving Sung to go next to Phobos.

The lap bar pushed down, and as they slowly clicked up the first hill, Havve leaned forward, Meouch sat up, not looking at the track, while Sung and Phobos both had one hand on the bar and the others gripped between them, sweat between their palms.

Unlike the rest of them, Havve was completely silent as the coaster rocketed down and around the track. He had this unwavering focus, like he was deciding the path of the track as they went and had to lay down every plank of wood before it was too late. The other three whooped and hollered at every turn and bump- Phobos and Sung with fear, the latter of them joining Meouch in screams of excitement.

As they slowed to a stop, Meouch laughed, still high off the rush. Everyone got off, some more shakily than others, but he stayed, looked to the small line.

“You said we had time for two rides, right?”


	11. snack time delay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> owlabouttwrp asked: For a prompt: "But how did this even happen?"

“How did this even happen?” Meouch muttered, glowering into the cupboard. Everything in it was knocked over- well, no, not exactly everything- all the items on the bottom shelf were on their sides, pushed back and around. Like an incredibly focused earthquake. 

He was going to just ignore it, grab what he wanted, and leave it for someone else to clean up. But he couldn’t find what he wanted, so he had to drop his snack plans and reorganize the whole shelf. As his luck worked out, once everything was perfectly in its place, he still couldn’t find the one thing he was looking for. So he branched out, opening the cupboards next to it, reorganizing the contents there, searching, hoping maybe it just got knocked over.

After about 15 minutes of rearranging and getting more frustrated, it was still nowhere to be found. So he stood, pouting in the kitchen, defeatedly shut the cupboard doors, deciding to go without. 

Clunking, the distinct clunking of boxes and cans being knocked open.

He flung open the door and caught the culprit. A hand, coming from the door, out of a strange, space-age looking portal.

Meouch screamed, short and guttural, grabbed the hand.

Sung’s shriek rang out from the basement. Thumping as he ran up the stairs, socks making him slide to a stop at the top on the slick wood. One hand hanging onto the railing, the other in the pouch strapped to his leg. 

“Let go of my hand!”

“Stop knockin’ shit over!”


	12. how could you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> glowbos asked: For the dialogue prompt: "How could you?"

As the seasons changed, Phobos always got more antsy at dawn, the time he could be comfortably up shifting, wanting to enjoy whatever benefit he got from it. At least, that’s what Sung told himself when Phobos was still up after he got back from his morning jog.

He waved on his way in, and Phobos nodded, silent as always, attention focused on his phone.

The first thing Sung went for was the fridge, for the water pitcher, for some well deserved and well needed refreshment. But, such was his luck, there was maybe a tablespoon of water in the bottom. He tsk’d, and shot a glare in Phobos’ direction; the only available suspect. Fine. He’d refill it and just have tap water.

He popped off the lid, wrangled it into the sink around the small collection of dishes, and turned on the tap.

The hose next to the faucet shot water at him, making him drop the pitcher and jump back, water still on and spraying at him.

A breathy laugh caught his attention, and sure enough, Phobos had been watching the whole time, having set it up.

“Phobos,” Sung cried indignantly, “how could you?”


	13. the possible farthest i've taken an inside joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shanghailady asked: "commander meouch, what does "lesbophobe" mean?" -sung

“Hey,” Sung said, opening Meouch’s bedroom door in the middle of the afternoon. It was completely dark, window blocked with thick curtains. The light spilling in from the hallway barely made a dent. Meouch’s groan emanated from the foot of the bed, which is where Sung headed. “I have a question, get up.”

Meouch grumbled, but sat up, eyes still shut.

“Look,” Sung insisted, holding his phone out. Another grumble, and Meouch reluctantly opened an eye a sliver. It took a while for his vision to focus, and for him to comprehend anything other than a blindingly bright screen, but he figured it out. A google search, suggested results after ‘doctor sung’.

“Oh, I know,” Meouch said, making Sung perk up. “You’re a loser, and googling yourself. That’s what that is.” He very promptly laid back down, rolling over.

“No!” Sung cried, voice shrill. He kneeled on the bed, leaned over Meouch and held the phone in his face. “Look! That! The first result!”

Meouch blinked open his eyes, reading it.

“Doctor Sung is a lesbophobe,” he read aloud.

“Yeah!” Sung yelled, getting up. Meouch sat up, more awake than he wanted to be. Sung seemed proud that he got Meouch to actually read it, but then remembered his original reason for barging in. “…So what do you think it means?”

“What?”

“What does lesbophobe mean?”

“Dude,” Meouch said, scoffing. “It’s obvious.” He got up out of bed, spun Sung around and put his arm around his shoulders. Sung let Meouch push him along, excited to hear whatever Meouch was going to tell him.

He was shoved out the door, and it promptly shut behind him. “It means let me go the fuck back to sleep!” Meouch hollered from behind the closed door.


	14. this is a classic misdirection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: "Nice dress, hogan"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god can you tell im adding all these prompts at once. also i really hope that [REDACTED] shows up

Texts from Phobos were always… something. That’s how Sung always put it. Meouch described them as ‘nearly incompre-goddamn-hensible’. They assumed Havve thought something similar.

He genuinely enjoyed them; lots of emoji sprinkled into the actual content, he sent pictures often, sometimes pictures of hand written messages that he scrawled out rather than just typing a response. The only downside was when things would get sent out of order. Which of course was a detriment to texting anyone, but it had this weird tragic undertone when it happened to Phobos’ messages.

It was in the middle of the night, the buzzing waking Havve out of sleep mode.

“nice dress hogan” Except, instead of the word dress, it was just an emoji of one. 

Havve tilted his head, puzzled. He didn’t get another message right away, so he scrolled up through their earlier conversations, seeing if it was just a late message, if it would’ve made sense earlier.

It didn’t really fit in anywhere.

Slowly, Havve creaked upwards. It was night, Phobos was up, he was just going to ask about it and get it over with. Once he reached Phobos’ room however, door wide open, he figured Phobos had gone somewhere. He waited at the top of the stairs, listening, but didn’t hear anything, didn’t see any shadows move. So he waited. In Phobos’ room, plugged into the wall, in sleep mode.

It was a little over an hour later that he got the missing part of the message, buzzing phone waking him up once more. A photo.

The storefront of some alternative clothing store, lights inside off, establishment obviously closed. A mannequin right in the middle, wearing something acceptably black, and a mask. A rectangular mask with pronounced, simplified, pointed teeth, and black circles for eyes. It did indeed look a lot like Havve.

Just as he got it, he heard the front door open. Phobos was home from his midnight walk, and Havve could tell him about it soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK I HAD TO EDIT THIS THE DRESS EMOJI DIDNT SHOW UP


	15. human mall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> captainsaltypear asked: For the prompt thing :D "Hey Havve, I found this at the nearby human mall, figured you'd like it."

“Havve. Found this at the mall East. Thought you would like it.”

A text from Phobos. Kind of. A screencap of a saved note. It was dated a few minutes ago, so the picture of whatever he got was probably sending, or hard to take a picture of.

And then Havve kind of forgot about it. Sung was up too, doing Sung things, which required Havve to be up as well, watching him as he flit about the house, as he stopped suddenly, looming over him whenever he sat down. Embarrassingly, he didn’t remember until Sung reminded him.

“You’ve gotten, like, 8 texts in the last minute, hoags.”

Havve hurriedly checked his phone, leaving Sung alone finally. He saw the text from earlier for a split second before all the images loaded in.

It was 2 in the morning. Everything was closed. And there wasn’t a mall out east, either. Not an open one, at least.

The first image was broken cherub statue, the back of the head down to the rump, little fluffy angel wings still in tact.

The rest of the pictures were varying shots of an abandoned shopping mall; boarded up storefronts, the moon shining through the skylight, wilting potted plants next to fake plastic trees.

Havve saved all of them. Phobos was right.


	16. yes this is a prompt request from the actual factual havve hogan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> havvehogan asked:  
> I SWEAR TO CRISTINA AGUILLERA, DOC, IF YOU BRING THIS SHIT INTO MY HOUSE AGAIN--I PROMISE--I WILL NOT HESITATE TO RIP OFF YOUR LIPS AND SHRED THEM INTO CONFETTI. OF WHICH I WILL HENCE USE TO CELEBRATE THE DAY YOU FINALLY SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH FOR LONGER THAN TWELVE MINUTES.

A picture of a note, blocky, childish letters: what`s going on?

Meouch didn’t even question how to respond: mommy and daddy are fighting.

Phobos shot back a single thumbs up emoji, and, presumably, went back to sleep.

All their past fights and disagreements considered, this one was pretty mild. All of the furniture was intact. Havve was slowly making his way down the basement stairs as Sung tried to make his way up. Havve was winning, having worked Sung about halfway down.

“IF YOU BRING THIS SHIT INTO MY HOUSE AGAIN-” Havve had broken out his electrolarynx, shouting down Sung rather than physically intimidating him.

“It’s my house too!” Sung hollered back as loud as he could.

“I PROMISE-”

“What on Earth could you promise?!”

“I PROMISE,” Havve reiterated, as if being interrupted truly prevented anyone from hearing him. “I WILL NOT HESITATE TO RIP OFF YOUR LIPS AND SHRED THEM INTO CONFETTI.”

“Oh, the absolute fuck you will!” Sung yelled, peeved enough to swear at a high volume. But he was intimidated, and made his way back down without Havve forcing him. “You try it and I’ll scrap you!” His yelling got quieter the further down he got, a clatter of whatever he was trying to bring up barely noticeable.

Havve stood on the stairs for a good few minutes, making sure Sung wouldn’t try to sneak back up in the wake of Havve's victory, undermining it. Once he was satisfied that wasn’t going to happen, he lumbered back up, pocketing the electrolarynx. Just in time for Meouch to ask, “What was that about?”

Havve plopped down on the couch next to him, and held out his hand, to type out a message on Meouch’s phone rather than get his own. Meouch handed it over.

He tapped away for a while, hitting backspace many many many times, apparently re-writing things to get his message across exactly right. Finally, after Meouch was getting in the groove of twiddling his thumbs, Havve handed it back.

‘he called me that stupid nickname last night so i wanted to make his life difficult for a bit’

Meouch snorted. “So you don’t actually care about what he was bringing up here?”

Havve shook his head.

“So when he tries to-” Havve held up a finger, shushing him. He stood up, got the ‘larynx. There was the softest creak of the basement stairs.

“I SWEAR TO CHRISTINA AGUILERA, DOC-”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?”


	17. god i sure do love making them chat over a smoke & a beer

Sung held out his hand, and when Meouch didn’t do anything, shook it a little insistently.

“Oh- oh! Fuck, sorry, didn’t realize…” Meouch muttered, biting down on the filter while he pulled his pack out, giving Sung a cigarette. “Aren’t you all about being healthy and optimizing your body and whatever, though?”

Sung shrugged. “I’m already having a beer, so I might as well.” He put it between his lips and held out his hand again, for a lighter, which Meouch hurriedly handed over, not used to Sung bumming off him. 

It was almost impressive, how he held the beer bottle by the neck with the same hand he flicked on the lighter with, cupping his free hand around the flame. There was a mix of warm light from the fire, and the cool light of his core, lighting him from different angles. He held in the smoke as he passed back the lighter, letting it all out as he spoke. “And it’s a nice reminder for why I try and keep so healthy.” A smile. A joke.

Meouch pocketed the lighter, smiled back. They both kept quiet for a bit, no need to force small talk.

“I know it’s a little silly, but it’s nice to have a smoking buddy sometimes.” Sung hmm-ed, urging Meouch to go on. “Like, Phobos’ll come out and sit in the lawnchair, but he never smokes.”

“God, he better not,” Sung said, idle concern in his voice. “Air out here’s hard enough for him to deal with, nevermind adding literal poison to it.” He took a long, deep drag, like he was trying to slow himself down. “I’d rather you didn’t even smoke around him, but…” The bulk of that point dissipated with the smoke around him. 

“It’s your job security,” Meouch said with a chuckle, getting a bitter grin from Sung. He tilted his head in that quick little way, almost a twitch, like he was about to start building off a joke, a quip.

“I’ve got enough of that from Havve, thanks.” This time he took a swig of beer, and he always swished it around in his mouth before he swallowed. 

A very purposeful pause.

“I’m glad he doesn’t go out too much, breath city air.” Another drag, didn’t hold it, just sucking on a cigarette for something to do. “Once his lungs go, I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

It just hung in the air between them, that admission of morality. Sung kept going, something urging him to ramble.

“Where am I gonna get new lungs, huh? The heart thing, that was luck, I don’t even know how I did that, didn’t write it down, something artificial like that shouldn’t work but it does.” He shook his head, hand hovering close to his mouth. “Can’t just- I’m too  _ ethical _ now, I can’t just take a pair from the next nobody who comes down the block.”

Meouch snorted. “And then you gotta figure out how to make human lungs work in him.”

Sung didn’t laugh. Just stared at Meouch, until he looked back.

“...What?”

“Havve’s human, dude. He’s  _ from _ here.”

“What?! No,” Meouch dragged it out, but Sung just nodded. “No, I know you found him here, but that doesn’t mean- there weren’t humans around when you found him, so he can’t-” Cut himself off, looked away. “...Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“...And does he know that?”

Silence as Sung thought about it. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, still thinking as he said it. “I’ve never told him, but I haven’t told him otherwise, either. And it’s in his records, so-”

“His records?” 

“His medical records,” Sung answered as if it were obvious. “I keep track of what happens to you guys.”

“I have medical records?!” Meouch asked, voice going up a little too loud. 

“Of course.”

“Where are they? Can I like, see ‘em? Considering they’re about me?”

Sung hesitated for a split second, covered it up by taking a drag. “They’re- yeah, yeah, you can see ‘em.” A swig, another gulp, stalling for some reason. “They’re in the basement. In the, uh, med bay. I’ll show you.”

Meouch scoffed. “Med bay,” he repeated, shaking his head. “You know we live in a house now, right? Not a fuckin’ ship?”

“I- I know!” Sung retorted, voice going high in defense. “I’m just used to the terminology, I know we’re not- I know.”

Meouch smirked, fangs peeking out. “Relax, I’m just teasing.” They let it get quiet, let themselves calm down. “We’re fine, now,” Meouch muttered, sadly nostalgic. He dropped his cigarette, barely touched, and ground out the embers with his toe. He reached out to Sung, curled his fingers in a ‘gimme-gimme’ motion, until Sung passed over the beer. He swirled it in the bottle, just to stay out a little longer. 

“Hey,” Sung said, soft, frowning. “I’m still sorry about your tail. You always say it it’s fine now, but-”

“Cause it is!” Meouch said a little too loud, too defensive. “Really. Nothing we coulda done to save it back then, nothing we can do to change it now.” He didn’t want to look at Sung while he looked so pensive, so he chugged back the rest of the bottle. Shook his head as he swallowed the last little bit, licked his lips. “I know you did your best, anyway.” He took a few steps towards the house, gaze cast down. “Don’t stay out here too long, hey? I don’t want you gettin’...”

A tug on his shirtsleeve, by the elbow, and he turned around. Sung just fell against him, arm wrapped around his torso, cigarette carefully held away. Only surprised for a moment, Meouch hugged back, squeezing Sung around the shoulders. 

Sung patted him twice on the back and then let go. Gave him this wry little smile, almost looked like he wanted to cry. 

“Thanks, man.”


	18. last chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a baseless fight that im sure as shit not gonna give context to or resolve

Normally Meouch wasn’t one to go for a closed fist punch. He was made to swipe and drag, but that might seriously maim Sung, and he didn’t want to do that. He just wanted to hurt him.

His fist connected with Sung’s visor, and Sung stepped back, his head tilting back from the weight of his helmet. He touched his hand to where Meouch’s fist landed, silent for once.

“Commander,” he said calmly, “what are you doing?” It was the same tone as if he just saw Meouch elbow deep in the engine of the van, doing something benign and not picking a fight.

“I was trying to punch you in the face, but there was some shit in the way.”

“Oh, is that so?” Sung was overly cheery, undoing the strap of his helmet. He pulled it off and flicked his head back quick, his hair flying out of his face. He set his helmet down carefully, then stepped back towards Meouch, adjusting his gloves. “Come on, then. You know I hate when you run late.”

He was apparently letting Meouch have another shot, which was unusual, but Meouch wasn’t about to give up the chance.

Meouch wound back and took another swing. Same hand, aiming for the same spot, the corner of Sung’s eye. Which was a mistake.

Sung just barely stepped out of the way, knocking Meouch’s arm further to the side with his arm, this pleasant smile still on his face. He was fast, deflecting Meouch and then reaching over his head, grabbing Meouch by the scruff. Once he had a firm hold, he used Meouch’s momentum to throw him to the ground.

Sung was standing over Meouch. “Was that everything?”

“Asshole,” Meouch spat back. He got up, making sure not to turn his back to Sung. He put his fists up, ready to fight.

Sung sighed. “Fine. Last chance, and then I’m done with this.”

Meouch didn’t waste any time, and punched Sung in the stomach. Sung buckled forward, his eye opening wide. Meouch pulled away and swung his fist into the side of Sung’s head, right over his ear. Sung stumbled sideways, hand pressed over his ear. He stood up straight, charming smile gone from his face and replaced by a threatening grimace.

“That was a good one,” he said, voice contradicting his face, all light and cheery. “My turn.”

Sung took one long stride towards Meouch and grabbed his head, fingers gripping his mane. In a sudden movement he pulled Meouch’s head down and brought his knee up, hitting Meouch square in the nose. He shoved Meouch backwards to give himself enough space to swing his leg up into a high kick narrowly missing Meouch, which wasn’t a mistake. He brought his foot down, hard, into the back of Meouch’s head, knocking him to the ground.

He followed through, resting his foot on Meouch’s head, leaning forward, putting weight on it.

“Have you gotten that out of your system, or do you need me to keep going?”

Meouch growled in response, all he could really do, his nose being ground into the floor.

Sung kept pressing, waiting for Meouch to make a move. When he didn’t, Sung let up, stepped back. He was walking away slowly, not taking his eye off Meouch until he was absolutely certain he was done and staying down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please go ahead and tell me what you think!


	19. quirky flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sung-shine-boy asked: im trying to think of a prompt but all i could think was "phobos but with flowers" ;-;
> 
> commandermeouch said:  
> write havve’s weirdly endearing quirks

Phobos always tried his damnedest to not fall asleep, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. 

The warm light of the sunset by the back door, fingers grazing his scalp. His head would slump forward, and the feeling of fingertips on his chin, tilting it back up, would always wake him back up.

He’d rub his eyes, try to stay still as Havve braided flowers into his hair.

Freshly picked, he had to be far more delicate than anyone had any right to think he was, resulting in something surprisingly elegant.

Havve would tilt his head, inspecting his work as he created it, making sure it was all satisfactory and just so, rather than having to frustratingly undo any amount. Before he finished it- twisted an elastic around the ends of stems and hair- he’d hold it, look at it all, shift from side to side, not exactly ensuring it was even, but what he wanted. Then he’d tie it off, take pictures.

Sometimes, once he felt it was documented properly, he’d take it all down, collect all the cut flowers, hand them to Phobos to hold as he did it all over again. Other times, he’d leave it, both hands patting Phobos on the shoulders, leather gloves clapping behind his head.

Both fussed with the flowers left in the vases around the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think!


	20. effulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: soft like meouch sleeping in a sunbeam?

He smacked his lips, curled his body sideways into a C shape. He had paws, he was pretty sure; it felt like his limbs were more feline-esque than human. He wiggled his toes, shifted his hips as he flicked a phantom tail, no longer there.

This was the life he thought, a sunbeam stretching across the living room floor and warming his torso. Footsteps creaked down the stairs, and Meouch felt himself drift asleep.

A hand on him jerked him awake– a hand much larger than he expected, covering his whole stomach. He snapped his eyes open, made a surprised grumble as he saw the fluffy brown cat body his head was attached to, hand moving through his fur. Just before he could grab at that hand, it pulled away.

Greyish dry skin, nails that Meouch assumed were painted black although he never saw them chipped.

He rolled over, settled down on top of his paws. There was a tense moment, the only sound was the whirring of Havve’s fans, stuttery, as if he didn’t expect this and he had to reboot. His fingers were on Meouch again, scratched along his neck.

The uneven whir of the fans continued, and Meouch purred in the same stilted manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think!!!


	21. can't see eye to eye edit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is an edited version with the more gorey/overt parts taken out bc i still want people to read it. theres still some medical stuff, and descriptions of scars.

At the time, he didn’t react. Something, debris of some kind, collided with his visor, shattering it. And he knew it hurt, but it just didn’t really register at the time. At the time, he had to fire back, and run after Havve. Get on the ship after him and run for the pilot’s seat while Havve shut the door.

He got them out, away, and finally calmed down enough to feel it. Feel the pain come in waves, timed with his pulse, blood rolling down his face, vision blurry, not right. 

It had to be bad, the way Havve balked when he saw him. Didn’t yank him up, move him. He just left, quickly, almost jogging. He came back quickly too, first aid kit in his hands. Usually it stayed in the cockpit, but he cut himself shaving the other day and just left it in the bathroom.

Or maybe it wasn’t too bad, if Havve just grabbed that. 

Havve crouched in front of him, tilted his head, looking. Touched the visor, then something that made Sung suck a breath in through his teeth and curse. Havve stood, grabbing Sung’s wrist on the way and pulled him along behind him. He dripped blood all the way to the med bay.

He didn’t even sit all the way down on the bench before Havve started taking his helmet off for him. Carefully. Angling it away from where he got hit, shoulders slumping in relief when it was finally off.

The right side of his visor was practically gone, a crack going across to the left side, jagged edges. 

None of the glass from that side was in his visor. Nothing fell on the way over here, so Sung hoped maybe it was scattered somewhere before they got on the ship. 

Havve held his head still, hand around the back of it, bringing a large pair of tweezers to Sung’s face. He held his breath, hopes quickly dashed.

[paragraph removed]

It all seemed to be out, and they both breathed a sigh of relief. 

Havve started cleaning his face off, making Sung wince and clench his jaw at the sting of alcohol, rasp of cotton. But it was fine, they were all in the clear. 

While gently swabbing off his eyelid, Havve stopped. Tilted his head. He held his hand up, finger out, moved it side to side, up and down, and Sung watched it. Another head tilt, and he brought his hand under his chin, turning on his voice box.

“I’ve gotta take it out.”

Sung reached up to touch his eye, and Havve grabbed his hand before he could, shook his head. 

“Can I see it?” Sung asked, and Havve hesitated. Let go, stepped away to find a mirror. He grabbed a double sided one, made sure he wouldn’t hand it over and let Sung look with the magnified side. 

[section removed]

“Fuck,” Sung muttered. He handed the mirror back to Havve, rolled his shoulders. “I’m ready when you are.”

* * *

 

All things considered, getting an eye taken out of his head wasn’t the worst thing Sung had to do. All they had was a local anesthetic, and he insisted Havve be light-handed with it rather than risk half his face freezing up. But it went off without incident; the biggest mishap was when Havve couldn’t save his eyelid, leaving Sung with an obvious hole in his face. 

Even under the helmet, the visor, he wore an eyepatch. And he replaced the broken visor with plastic, not glass this time.

The scar lining the back of the socket was a funny pink shade for a long time. He’d slip a finger under the patch, rub it like he was wiping sleep out of his eye, feel how it was smooth but bumpy. 

It was Havve’s idea, the cyclops thing. He said it once, joking, a little sarcastic, and it bounced around Sung’s brain for a while before he just ran with it. He ran with it so well, that Meouch and Phobos accepted it, no questions asked. The first time they saw him without the helmet, Meouch did a double take. Neither said anything.

The first time they saw him without the eye patch, they pretended not to look. Meouch came to him later, asked if it hurt, how it happened. Phobos just wanted to know why he bothered with the eye patch; when he had the helmet on, no one could see the top half of his face anyways, and he only ever took the helmet off at home where there was no point covering it up since they all knew now.

He started wearing the patch less. Spent more time glancing at his reflection in glass, in the dark TV. He was blatantly staring at the hole in his face, reflected poorly in the glass on the microwave, and Havve caught him. A snort, not stifled laughter but the closest he could get anymore. Sung stood up straight, startled. Hand up, rubbing the scars closer to his nose. 

“I’m still not used to it,” he admitted. Havve stared, silently urging him on. 

Sung went to the fridge, bare feet softly scuffing the tile, back facing Havve. He fussed, reaching to the back, opening drawers and compartments. 

“Thanks,” he said finally. “I never thanked you for it, I realized, so.” He looked over his shoulder, blindspot sliding over Havve. He wasn’t a hundred percent certain he was even there. Still, he smiled. “Thanks for doing that for me, Havve.”

The floor creaked, the only indication Havve was there long enough to hear it. 


	22. what do you call those things anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: "phobos please get down from there"

“Phobos!” Sung hissed through gritted teeth. “Get down from there!”

He didn’t even glance down, Sung couldn’t tell if he shook his head or even acknowledged that he heard him. He kept reaching for the tree branch, grabbing it and seemingly gathering his nerve before trying to pull himself up from his precarious position on top of the playground structure.

He assumed a brisk pre-dawn walk would Phobos would be uneventful. Refreshing, even. A nice way to hang out outside of the house without Phobos losing sleep and making himself miserable further down the line.

Well.

He seemed to be enjoying himself, at least.

It was a park in their neighborhood they were passing by on the way back. It was as though Phobos was possessed; something about the bright colours, the vague castle shape, just made him climb the structure, start reaching for the tree branches overhead, pulling himself further into the sky.

Sung just watched from the edge of the sand pit, on the concrete border, warning unheard. Phobos wobbled as he made his way through branches, unsteady, nervousness wafting down. He stopped, still reaching over his head, but not trying to go up further. Sung turned and tilted his head, trying to see past the leaves and branches at what Phobos was reaching for.

Phobos made his way down with one arm curled close to his chest. He clung closer to the branches, and when he was on the last one, perched above the highest peak in the playground, he looked at Sung.

Sweaty, hair up in strange wisps and stuck to his face, cat scratches across his cheek.

Sung scrambled over and up, sneakers slipping in his haste until he was balanced underneath Phobos, reaching up to either grab him, or his feline rescue.

Phobos handed down an absolutely terrified cat, and it dug its claws into Sung’s arm, trying both to cling onto him and get the hell away. Sung inched his way down, followed by Phobos, both of them making hopefully soothing shh-shh-shh noises.

It bit Phobos as he checked for a collar, for tags, and he barely even winced. The cat only put up with it for a few seconds more before finally wriggling free of Sung’s grasp, launching itself into the air and away, both of them gasping as it ran off.

They walked home defeated, a little bitter, and Sung assumed only metaphorically licking their wounds until he caught Phobos spitting on hand.


	23. don't let the doctor in i wanna blow off steam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for smoking

It was hot and prickly, made his eyes water. The smoke rasped at his throat, he had to force himself to breath it in. Sung exhaled, salivating, and held back the urge to spit.

He was leaning on the back bumper of the van, out of sight of the house, almost in the alleyway. He hadn’t had a cigarette in years, probably, and it felt like it was his first one. He wanted to cough and spit, and just suck on it without inhaling just to get it over with. But he persisted. 

It was fate, he figured. He had no reason to open the glove box on his way home, and Meouch had no reason to leave a carton in there. There was only one cigarette left in it, he was probably out buying more, left the almost finished pack in the car and forgot about it. Something in Sung made him take it. Made him feel around the floor once he was parked at home until he found one of the dozens of lighters Meouch had dropped. And then he was, to any observer, hiding as he had a smoke. Which he was. He’d been thinking about what to do about the smell, if it would even cling to him the way it seemed to permeate Meouch, all his clothes. If any of his bandmates would notice, or if they’d write it off somehow. 

He took another drag. It felt like his grip was too tight, like he’d snap it in half, make fire and ash spill out from it, create a heat so great he’d melt and evaporate. His chest felt tight as he inhaled, irritated, the whole experience entirely unpleasant. He shut his eye and imagined the path it took, like sandpaper down into his lungs, every little pocket of air. He could almost feel blood pooling in them, could taste it as he exhaled, little fires swimming through his blood stream.

Sung leaned fully against the back of the van, making it creak a little, almost bounce. He stared up at the sky, trying to pick out patterns in the stars, quizzing himself on what constellations he knew. 

Staring a little further into the darkness. Trying to focus on a far of piece of space, for one particular light a certain distance away.

Hot ash fell down onto his thigh, his jeans, and he jolted up straight, trying to brush it off but only really grinding it into the fabric. He gave off a disappointed hiss, held the cigarette precariously between his lips, and tried to scrape the stain out with his fingernails. He kept breathing the smoke in through his nose, it was getting in his eye now the way he was bent over. 

More ash crumbled and fell, this time hitting around the hem of his t-shirt, and he groaned. He took the cigarette from his mouth, almost a respectable butt, held it an arms length away and dropped it onto the driveway. He kept dusting off his shirt, making sure it was all off. 

He huffed out a sigh, let it morph into a grumble, into an exasperated exclamation, and then a defeated laugh. He rubbed his eye with both hands, pressed his fingertips on top of his shut eyelid. He cupped a hand around his mouth, sniffed his breath. It was okay, maybe. Checking like that never really worked for him. A hand through his hair, pulling his shirt away from his torso and flapping air into it, and that was as good as he was gonna get. 

His tongue ran along the backs of his teeth as he walked through the backyard, taste of the smoke still filling his cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow im still on this weird kick huh. are yall worried for me yet or like is this a normal fixation.


	24. hey commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a revenge story

“Hey,” Sung said, distracted, still enveloped with the newspaper crossword, “could you do me a favour?”

“Uhh,” Meouch responded, one foot out the door. He pulled his foot back but didn’t close the door or turn back around. “Depends? Probably.”

“Oh, not now, later, don’t worry!” Sung looked up, waved his hand back and forth, spun around and held his pencil between his index and middle finger. He tilted his head, a silent ‘so? whaddya say?’

“Yeah, probably. What is it?” Meouch took a step outside, leaning back over the threshold, waiting.

“Could you, at some later point in time, just be a real big help to me, just-” he waved his hands in this circular, tumbling motion. He pursed his lips together, acted like he was thinking how to word it. “Just absolutely ravish my asshole.”

“I’m not your friend anymore,” Meouch called out as the screen door swung shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see chapter 8 for the starting point of this feud.


	25. scritches

The drawing force here, was that it was there; Meouch stretched out on the couch, arms folded over his chest, not snoring yet. His ears were relaxed, not pointing anywhere in particular, and Phobos just couldn’t help himself.

He felt the edge of Meouch’s ear, fingertip running up the curve until it twitched away in response. He scritched his fingers between Meouch’s ears, the top of his head, starting up purring that sounded more like snoring. He leaned over Meouch as he rubbed his forehead, ruffling the short soft fur. Once he got down the bridge of the nose, deep rumbling purrs were emanating from Meouch.

Phobos was just about to start working his way back to the top of Meouch’s head, when he was suddenly swatted at, his hand being pushed away.

“Get outta here,” Meouch mumbled, crossing his arms again, not even opening his eyes. “I’m tryna’ get some shut eye.”

Phobos gave one more pat to his head, a parting, before leaving him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im now legally obligated to print out every single time i said lions dont purr and eat it


	26. i wanted to have some kind of strum und drang ref for this title but alas i only ever read sorrows of a young werther

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a storm last night and it was unlike anything ive ever heard before and my notes for this on my phone are so painfully bare-bones its almost funny.

It was a flash of light that woke him, and when he rolled over, a roll of thunder kept him up.

Meouch sat up slowly in bed, kicking off unfamiliar sheets. Context trickled back to him; a motel, in Texas, he’d barely woken up when they’d gotten in, just made his way to bed once someone pulled him out of the van.

Another flash, and he glanced over to the window. One big picture window, curtains pulled open in the middle, letting all the light from the storm in. The lightning didn’t stop, and neither did the snores from the other bed. He got up, slow, stiff, and tired, to close the curtains.

Havve was outside. Under the overhang of the second floor walkway, staring up and out.

Meouch stepped out at the same time as a resounding clap of thunder, flinching at the noise. The walls didn’t seem to muffle anything from how loud it was inside, but coming outside revealed a near continuous rumble, rain so hard and fast it didn’t sound like there was any space between the drops.

He bumped his elbow against Havve’s, who glanced over before looking back ahead.

“The storm wake you?”

It took awhile, but Havve shook his head. Like he had to think about it.

There was more light and noise, a continuous cacophony of the two, and Meouch stepped away, turning to go back inside.

Quick as a flash, Havve grabbed his shoulder. He let go almost as quickly, and Meouch turned back around, glancing from Havve’s emotionless mask to his hand, still out, still reaching.

The hand dropped, he tilted his head, beckoning, as he looked back towards the storm. Meouch gave a squinty tired smile as he stepped back, shoved his hands into his shorts pockets and stood shoulder to shoulder with Havve, watching the storm tumble overhead.


	27. twist and loop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [9:23 AM] foleh: Can u write him delicately putting his hair up to fit it in his mask

He always forgot about it until he got the suit most of the way on, starting to pull the red spandex over his shoulders, and he’d have to brush his hair out of the way of that, and remember, oh, right, his hair.

So he’d pull his arms out of the sleeves, knowing he didn’t have enough slack to keep them in, and then realize he forgot to keep a hair tie on his wrist. He’d pat where he normally have pockets, start rummaging through the clothes he just took off, and by the time he started going through backpacks (not even his; he threw hair ties into everyone’s stuff, the way Sung left  little bottles of sunscreen all over) someone would make a quip about how this happened  _ every time _ , and there was a high chance they’d hand over an elastic from around their wrist, too. 

This time though, he found a near new pack of elastics, all stretched around a rectangle of cardboard. He pulled off two, putting one around his wrist for when he inevitably lost the other. 

It was a quick, messy bun. Loop around the hair, twist, pull the hair halfway through, loop, twist, loop, twist, letting go of the elastic and pulling his fingers away. 

He pulled his arms back through the sleeves, spandex over his shoulders, pushed the zipper halfway up his back, stretched and reached to pull it up to his shoulders. Now he took his time, putting his head through the front of the hood, one hand at the back of his neck, holding his hair down as he inched the zipper up. Once the zipper was all the way up, up to what would be the back of his head on the hood, he pulled it back over his head, hair away from his face and not tangled up in the zipper. 

Then it was all a flurry of pulling on bracers, knee pads, belt, he almost forgot the belt, while everyone else was waiting on him. Guitar, chest and shoulders, and finally the helmet, pushing it on, giving his head a few quick shakes before running on to the stage.


	28. [pot joke]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moxxicity asked: havve takes up pottery?

The hobbies Havve took up were almost always unexpected. The gardening, the growing a bountiful supply of things he couldn’t eat. Then the cooking and baking, making further things he could not eat, eschewing recipes and rules, going by feel. 

When he dropped a plate, his resolution to make a replacement felt like a joke. Felt like, because, as Sung was keen to remind people, Havve was technically not capable of making jokes. Not to mention, it seemed forgotten when he picked up an interest in taking apart a sewing machine he’d gotten from  _somewhere_.

The ungodly whirring was a tip off. 

He’d hacked together a pottery wheel, stealing the lazy susan off the dining room table, the motor and pedal of the sewing machine giving him control of its spinning. 

The shelves were filled with over a dozen new cups, vases filled with absolutely anything, and eventually he bought a new plate.


	29. paddywhack give the dog a bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commandermeouch asked: writing prompt: havve collects little knick knacks to help him remember things

There were two places that were solely Havve’s, no one else allowed, no two ways about it; his room, and the garden shed. Both were locked when he wasn’t there, door shut anyways when he was.

He moved slowly in his either, careful to avoid the creak of the floor boards. Opening drawers as slowly as possible, all but eliminating the rolling noise. The literal scrapbook he pulled out, softly setting it on the desk. It wasn’t much effort to open it, the cover eager to fall back. 

As far as scrapbooks went, it wasn’t the prettiest. Organized by date, and absolutely anything taped against the pages. Receipts, ticket stubs, newspaper clippings, photos, and simple drawings. Dead pens with the logos rubbed off were held against the pages against all odds.

He touched absolutely everything before he turned the page. Read every word, mouthed the dates. 

Nothing was familiar. Photos of places he’d been, even when he was in them, receipts and his own handwriting on the back documenting why things were bought and what the weather was like, none of it. it was like he was seeing it all for the first time, every time.

Havve shut the book, let the drawer rattle as he put it back. Stood up, rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking. He had to start work on the scrap book for this week soon.


	30. its a problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> twrporg asked: prompt: the boys go to a thrift store and sung leaves with every single hawaiian shirt that was available to him

“C’mon, man,” Meouch groaned, leaning against the checkout. “You’ve been over everything like, three times. I think you've seen everything.”

“Vigilance, Commander!” Sung shouted back, a few racks over from where Meouch had last seen him. “You never know,” he said to himself, far too quiet fro anyone else to hear.

Meouch resigned himself to wait another hour at least, and made his way to the secondhand furniture, looking for a place to sit. 

In all fairness, Sung had warned him. He’d told Meouch that he preferred to shop alone, especially at thrift stores; he had to go over every area of the store, every possible thing, lest he worry he missed some amazing find. It hadn’t been in vain like many of his trips to secondhand yet high end vintage shops. This place brought a good bounty, Sung holding each find in his arms.

All in all, it took him an hour and a half to finally finish up and find Meouch asleep; head back, mouth open, and brazenly snoring. 

“Dude,” he said upon being woken. “Didn’t you just donate half that shit?”


	31. it was about skyrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Meouch having a dream

“Could you pass me that?”

Clear as day, Phobos heard Meouch make that request from the couch. Annoyed, he stood from his seat at the table, and made his way over. He was about to ask what on Earth he needed that he couldn’t sit up and get, but, leaning over the couch, Meouch was already fast asleep. 

Phobos screwed his face up in a frown, deciding not to wake Meouch; he was probably actually asleep. He loved to mess with Phobos, but there was no way he could fake being asleep that well; he'd be too smug in pulling it off to hold back from rubbing it in Phobos' face.

Just as he was heading back, eager to return to his crossword, Meouch  _laughed_. A full, hearty chuckle. Elated to have caught him, Phobos dashed back, finger up and ready to accuse–

His still sleeping bandmate. 

Phobos squinted, and committed to standing over Meouch, waiting to catch him. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long; Meouch rolled over, laughing again, softer this time. 

“Idiot,” he mumbled, fast asleep.


	32. my worst nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked: Sung frantic before a show and running late

Sung always told himself it would be just one more thing; one more last minute errand, one more adjustment, one more  _anything_. 

It was a bad habit. 

This time, he wasn’t just running around backstage, excitement working out as he paced.

He wasn’t even there.

Sung assumed he would have enough time to just… pop out. For one little errand. Just a quick thing, just down to the closest corner store for some granola bars; he was out. But, they didn’t have any. Logically, he went to the next closest store, confident that he still had plenty of time. 

This continued until everyone was dressed and ready, and Sung was nowhere to be found.

Meouch kept patting where his pockets normally were, dying for a smoke. Phobos was chewing what was left of his nails while Havve stood there.

Havve stood there, getting angrier. 

When Sung finally returned, ten minutes after they were supposed to be on, he attempted to rattle off his whole story and reasoning behind being so late. He even managed to start, hands waving as he spoke, voice tight as he talked faster than he’d ever spoken before. 

He was cut off by Havve grabbing his arm.

For just a moment, Havve loomed over him, and Sung’s eyes darted around, trying to scan his face for a hint of anything. Once he settled on eye contact, staring down the red LEDs, Havve moved, dragging Sung along with him.

It wasn’t as if Havve had killed Sung’s frantic energy; rather, he transformed it. He shifted it from Sung uselessly running around like a chicken with its head cut off while they were already late, to him suddenly jumping to action at the mere sight of Havve, double his speed when his eyes flickered.


	33. wiggles excitedly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oldrussiancaptainsteve asked: IF YOU'RE STILL DOING PROMPTS: PHOBOS SHOWING OF ON STAGE

All of the everything about a show made Phobos, at the very least, dizzy. The lights, the noise, even being in the crowd before and after. The flashing, the pounding, the body heat, it all should’ve been a miserable experience for him. 

Should have.

Playing shows, being on stage, those were Phobos’ utmost favourite things. He’d always go to bed with a wicked headache, and an immense satisfaction. And it was obvious why.

His day to day life, he was… over the top, at times. Doing things with a flourish. A little joy in his heart when all his friends eyes were on him. 

Once he was on stage, that multiplied. 

Anything he did, people would watch. People would  _take photos_. Every weird little motion, every step, every strum, any which way he showed off, people ate it up.

It made him run off the stage after every show, twirling around everyone else no matter how tired he was, no matter how his body ached. That attention from the crowd practically healed him.


	34. none of the sugar dissolved in that coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first-officer-banana asked: hey, if you're still taking prompts: phobos comforts a spooked sung

They were behind schedule. They were behind, and that’s why, against all better judgement, Sung had dragged everyone out of bed at around 3 in the morning, getting an earlier start on driving between cities.

Meouch snored in the back seat, and Havve was as still as their equipment. Only Phobos and Sung were awake, Sung driving with one hand on a large coffee in the cupholder.

Sung insisted on driving, because he also insisted it was his fault they were running behind, therefore he was making up for it. Phobos dropped it after about fifteen minutes.

It was maybe two hours before it happened. Phobos has flicked through endless radio stations of just static, and started digging through the glove box for a CD. The only warning was Sung's gasp, quick and soft.

The van lurched as Sung slammed the brakes, not stopping before there was a sickening  _thump_ , making Phobos’ stomach churn, the vehicle wobble as it ran something over. They came to a stop, Sung keeping a death grip on the wheel.

“I- I think that was a fox,” Sung said, hands shaking as he put the van in park, put on the brake. “It didn’t move, it might’ve already been dead, o-or–” He brought his hands up in the air, clenched them into fists, nails digging into his palms. “Shit.”

Phobos reached over, grabbed one of Sung’s hands. Uncurled his fingers, rubbed the tendons on the back of his hand. 

_We should go take it off the road._

“Yeah,” Sung agreed. “Yeah,” he repeated, unbuckling his seatbelt, unlocking the doors. 

Phobos had every intention of doing most of it, just letting Sung take it as an excuse to get out of the van and have a breather. But Sung went for it, pulling the former fox well off the road without any sort of assistance. He asked Phobos if there was any damage to the car, checking it out himself, anyway. 

When he went to open the driver side door, Phobos stopped him. Took his hand again, put an arm around Sung’s back, and guided him to the passenger door. 

 _I’ll drive_ , Phobos insisted.  _You find me some good music to listen to_.

Sung nodded, and they were on their way again.


	35. it went right over his head, fyi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is an extra/deleted/bonus scene of what you will that has no bearing on the plot whatsoever and that i wrote on a plane. plane fics always feel a little different.

Sung knew he overdressed at his job. It was a trendy, casual, open air kind of office, with most people wearing jeans and t-shirts, something comfy, a non-traditional environment. He could tell that people assumed he was dressing up for his first day, first week, trying to make a good impression. 

He could also tell how baffled they were when he kept dressing like that.

It was just how he was comfortable; he’d always had a uniform in school, and was one of the few students that enjoyed it. He liked the collars of the shirts, the look, finding ways to play within the confines as he got older. Even in college, he wore structured, put together outfits for class, changing upon getting home. 

Even in his early days at the company, he was unwavering in his commitment to his fashion choices. Even as supervisors told him that, hey, he could loosen up a little. No need to be so uptight, kid.

“Do I look uptight? It’s got little clouds for polka dots.”

His coworker made the usual kind of strained laugh that response always got. As if no one ever expected their questioning to be turned back on them. But then she stepped back, gave him a once over.

“No, I guess not,” Mina said. She wasn’t exactly his coworker; he was her manager, but he’d only been there half a year longer than her. She was quick to learn but still easy going. He liked her. They’d never spoken outside of work. “It’s a bit much, though.”

“Mm?” Sung had gotten distracted, she’d talked to him while he was in the middle of pouring coffee. The pot was nearly empty, so he started to put another on.

“The tie. You’re already in a button up and nice shoes, and half the office is in t-shirts.” She leaned against the counter, looked up at him through her bangs. “You’re already better dressed than all of us, the tie is just overkill.”

The compartment for the filter clicked into place, and Sung touched the knot of his tie. A single solid colour, blue, matching the deep outline of clouds. His shoes laces were the same rich colour. His fingers slid down the fabric, and he wrapped a hand around his mug. 

“It’s a short sleeve,” he admitted, almost sheepish, as if his reasoning was silly, “and it’s not open, and the sleeves aren’t rolled up.” She kept looking at him, unrelenting, so he picked up the mug and took a sip while staring at the contents. “It-- it ties it all together.”

Mina made a noise, a sort of half laugh, and stood up straight. She reached forward, fingers slipping to the back of Andrew’s tie, and lifted it in the air, as if she were getting a closer look. 

“Ties it all together,” she repeated. She gripped his tie, at its widest point, and tugged it, making him bend down a couple inches to her eye level. 

Smiled, tilted her head. “You’re funny, Andy.”

She let go and turned away quickly, heading back to her desk, leaving Sung slouching at the counter. He righted himself, smoothed his tie, his shirt, even though they really didn’t need it. 

Maybe he’d phase the ties out of his work wear before they became a hazard. 

 


End file.
